TwentyEight Spins
by Sweetest Flower-n-Tallest Stag
Summary: Five year old Harry goes back in time with a little help from a session in the cupboard under the stairs. He encounters James and Lily, seventh years at the moment. Voldemort hunts Harry down while he is at Hogwarts...and a curse is put upon him.
1. 28 Spins

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything of J.K. Rowling's ideas and wonderful talent. Everything is hers.**

**A/N: First off, I would like to apologize. You would know why if you are reading this story. I'm horrible at updating. And you might have an even better reason to get mad, because now I am rewriting this whole story. But c'mon, it's only four chapters! Well, I would just adivise that you re-read this, because it **_**does **_**change a bit. If you like my older version better, I'm sorry, but I'm sticking to this. I mean, seriously, why would **_**anybody**_** stick a poor little boy behind a bush?! I wrote the **_**old version **_**of this first chapter two-three years ago. So hopefully it's tons better now! Thank you!**

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Twenty Eight Spins

Chapter 1 - 28 Spins

A tiny boy of five crouched on the floor of the eeire cupboard under the stairs. It was a lousy cupboard...too small, even for his size. And the fact that it was cramped with old brooms, boxes, and other storage didn't help. Apparently, this was his new bedroom. What a pathetic bedroom...no bed, filthy, and, not to mention, filled dead things. With cobwebs present in ever corner, overturned cockroaches scattered across the floor, and a trickle of crust remnants of bug shells, you would've thought this room was reserved for...well, nothing, really. Every single feature of this room sent shivers down the boy's spine, whose life wasn't so different from this ugly cupboard.

Harry James Potter was one unlucky child. Living with old scum all the time everyday would not have a very good affect on someone who was trying to grow up healthy and happy.

The Dursley's had neglected him. Not bothering to feed him correctly, treat him fairly, or show any sign that they cared he exsisted for all the years they had him. They didn't seem to think he deserved any of those things, maybe not even the chance to have a proper family.

Harry wasn't abused. In fact, he was never touched at all, in fear that his queer side might get to them. He was like a deadly specimen of some creature yet to be identified, whose skin might kill any person who came in contact with it. The only way the Dursley's showed their anger towards Harry, without laying a hand on him, was to yell at him, shorten his meals, or give him extra, harder chores. And now they had come up with the idea of throwing him in the cupboard under the stairs. Very creative.

---

Harry trembled from the cold air in this concealed cupboard, his teeth chattering with disgust in the filth all around him. He would've been interested in the cockroaches if they had not been dead. He could almost feel the essence of death, which reminded him of his parents. It hurt him to think that he could never see them, and if he ever could, they would be skeletons.

His body was sore, bruised, and aching all over. A low growling noise rumbled in his stomach. His throat was dry. And it wasn't wrong to say that it had all been the Dursleys' fault. Everything was the Dursley's fault, but he couldn't complain, could he? They were the ones who took him in, fed him (at least a little), gave him shelter (a little too much), and took care of him (although not properly)...

Two of the Dursley's, however, did not take part in the event that lead to the growling in Harry's stomach. Dudley was the victum this time. And if Harry hadn't been too occupied to figure out how it happened, he might have said that Dudley deserved it.

It had started two days ago, around dinner time, which Harry should've been "making sure not to burn". Dudley had other plans, and thought he'd play Harry Hunting. Harry ran to save his perfectly un-bruised skin, but Dudley's game didn't and never ended too smoothly. With Harry cornered at the top of the stairs, Dudley held up his fist, ready to win his game. He gave Harry a look of victory before striking him once in the stomach, leaving him bent over and clutching a newly forming bruise.

Dudley gave an evil cackle, imitating the bad guys he always saw on T.V., laughing at Harry's weakness, teasing Harry and his ugly glasses, and definitely not forgetting to point out the fact that Harry was an orphan.

"I'm lucky, because I have _alive_ parents who actually love me!" Dudley said in a bragging voice.

Harry, fighting with all his heart, forced himself to think that this was not true. His own parents had loved him, too. But some small part of him listened to Dudley.

Another part of Harry had gotten furious, but what had happened next had gotten the Dursley's even more furious. Dudley was suddenly pushed by an invisible hand that sent him rolling down the stairs, interupting his laughter and replacing it with a cry of surprise.

Harry watched in horror. He disliked his cousin, but never wished him to be hurt. He hadn't even touched Dudley--he would never think of it, just like the Dursley's would to Harry. Maybe he tripped, Harry though frantically. But what was there to trip on?

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, Vernon and Petuina, came running to see what had happened, wondering what the commotion was all about. To Harry's rotten luck, they came just in time to see Dudley hit the bottom of the stairs, shocked, terrified, and most likely hurt.

The look Harry got was one of pure disgust and blame. And not too long after cooing and helping their precous son, Vernon grabbed Harry immediately and began to yell at him.

"WHAT WERE YOU THINKING, PUSHING DUDLEY DOWN THE STAIRS?!" Vernon had bellowed. His voice was louder than he knew it was.

"I-I didn't..."

Petunia had been sobbing, but managed, "You hurt our little Dudleykins! You should be ashamed! It was no good of us to keep you!"

Harry's eyes moved down to the floor. He already knew that he was unwanted, but did they really have to tell him?

"EXPLAIN YOURSELF, NOW!" Vernon continued.

"He...he must've...s-slipped--"

The next thing Harry knew, his cheek recieved a hard blow that made him fall to the ground, and he could only express his pain with a low cry which he tried to stifle. His eyes watered, but he wouldn't let overflow of tears release themselves. Instead he put a hand to his cheek, unfamiliar with the burning sensation. Sure, he had been hit by Dudley before, but never as hard as this.

And he dared look up. There, staring right at him, was Petunia, a hand covering her mouth. Her eyes were wide and possessed something unknown to Harry. Did she know something he didn't? Did she know it wasn't his fault that Dudley fell? Was that why she was so angry, and maybe even _scared_?

Her eyes revealed just about that much, and didn't let Harry look further. But he did collect one thing. Petuina had just hit him.

"To the cupboard with you, boy!" Vernon ordered furiously, noticing the strange moment between Petunia and Harry.

Harry, tears now threatening to leak, looked at Vernon. Cupboard? What cupboard?

Harry slowly stood up, lowering his hand from his cheek unwillingly. He looked confused.

"Under the stairs, boy! The cupboard under the stairs!" Vernon said impatiently.

Harry jumped and did as he was told, quickly, to not anger his Aunt and Uncle any further.

But as he approached the cupboard, he took the doorknob hesitantly. He felt odd...for once in his life he cared that the Dursley's were angry at him. And he was ashamed...like the Dursley's said he should be.

But he didn't do anything.

"In, boy!" Vernon growled, coming near the cupboard himself and throwing it open, only to shove Harry in. "No meals!"

With that he shut the door tight.

---

And now here he was...starving, aching, hurting, and shivering just as much as before.

He'd already been here for two days, and he wondered when somebody would bring him food. His mouth was dry...the least they could do was give him a glass of water.

Harry swore that if he was in this temperature any longer he'd get sick. He was already getting a cold.

He had a clear picture of how he was looking right now. He'd be pale. His green eyes would stick out more than ever in the darkness. His black hair would be messier than usual. His nose would be a little pink from sniffling so much. He would have little dark circles under his eyes from no sleep. And he couldn't forget that scar, which would be deeper, clearer, and redder than usual. And it haunted him with the ghosts of his parents. He had supposedly recieved this mark on the day his parents died in that cursed car crash.

It made him wonder...

What would it be to have parents that loved him? They would probably spoil him...and give him presents...and throw humongous Birthday parties for him. They would feed him and give him water...they would never send him to a cupboard under the stairs. They wouldn't be afraid to hug him or kiss him...and they would most definitely never hit him.

But he never thought that Petunia would either, and he wondered why she had. He had seen fear in her face...fear of...him?

Harry curled up against the wall and hugged his legs, trying to get warm. He thought longer and deeper, but the deeper his thoughts, the sadder he became, up to the point where tears came to his eyes.

Why was he shivering so frantically? Not of the cold but...was he scared of the Dursley's? Harry didn't want to admit that...

Something told him that this had nothing to do with the Dursley's...he felt like something wasn't quite--

_Hisssssssssisssisssiss..._

Harry became very still...even his shivering stopped. He scanned the small room, his eyes accustomed to the darkness already. He saw nothing.

_Hisssssssssisssisssiss..._

Harry gasped and backed up against the wall as a small, lime green snake slithered from a corner, creeping onto a storage box, leaving its mark in the layers of dust. It's small lime green head was lifted up high, staring at Harry with its beady black eyes.

Harry's eyes were wide and afraid. The snake was rather small, but could still be dangerous.

"Ssso, the famousss Harry Potter," the snake said.

Harry stared. How did it know his name? Never mind that, how did it talk?

"I have been watching you," the snake said. It's voice was breathy and wheezy, but somehow luring and strong. "It ssseemsss it isss time for me to sshow you thisss."

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but stopped. What would the Dursleys say if they heard him talking to a snake?

"Why ssso afraid little one? I mean no harm," the snake said, although its yellow eyes seemed to say something else.

Harry said nothing. The snake brought its head closer to Harry's. Harry backed up as much as he could.

"You are only five...I sssee. Not ssso old for a human, are you? I have come to...grant your deepessst wish. You have gone through ssso much, I can ssse it in your eyesss. You haven't eaten...and thisss cupboard mussst be your knew room. Ever wonder why you're being blamed for doing thingsss that are unexplained? Like pusshing a cousin down the ssstairsss? Tut, tut. Wonder why you're not loved? I know what I can do to help your poor, poor sssoul. I am going to reunite you with your parentsss, yesss, and you will thank me, won't you?" the snake hissed...it knew everything!

His parents were dead...how would the snake reunite him with them? Unless the snake wanted to...

"After you...kill me?" Harry asked, his voice quivering.

"Kill you!? I would never...what makesss you think thisss? Your parentsss are dead, but I will not kill you asss well! It isss not my job! You must be a very intelligent young lad to asssume sssomething with sssuch quick (dare I call it) logic!" the snake said, hissing louder than before, sounding a little irritated. "All I want you to do isss open thisss box!"

The snake looked down at the box it was on.

Harry looked at the box. Open it...should he? How much harm would it be if he did? But Harry knew better than to think something so simple and small wouldn't turn out to be a catastrophe. After all, small things seemed to become big problems in Harry's presence.

But Harry wasn't thinking about that...he was thinking about what would happen if he _didn't_ listen to the snake...it would probably bite him. So Harry allowed himself to scoot forward right next to the box.

"Excellent..." the snake whispered, sliding off of the box to the ground.

Harry could make out two letters: "H.P.". Those were his initials, but he didn't bring it up. He couldn't imagine what could be so important that involved _him_. Especially when it came from the Dursleys' house.

He began to open the box, but the task proved to be quite difficult. He had to unwrap the duct tape, that had been messily slapped on there some time ago, but he soon had the flaps wide open.

Harry stared. "...What is all of this?" he asked.

"Look for yourssself," the snake replied.

Harry slowly let his hand travel to the insides of the box. He took out an old newspaper. He looked at it once and threw it on his lap, knowing that whatever it was it must be boring.

He grabbed something else from the box. This time he took out a small wooden box, dusty and very old. Harry traced a random line in the dust on the lid, before blowing it all off. On the lid, a deer of some sort entwined by a lily was engraved...in Harry's opinion, the combination was weird. He didn't think much of it, but instead resumed lifting the lid. Inside was a single necklace. It was an emerald on a golden chain, simple yet gorgeous. He flipped it over, not really thinking he'd find anything. But he found more initials: "L.E.". And he wanted it...He could not stop looking at it.

"You sshould keep it..." the snake said, interrupting Harry's thoughts (more like reading them).

Harry was startled somewhat, forgetting that the snake was there.

And he listened to it. He placed the necklace in his pocket.

After setting the wooden box down, he reached into the box, ready to find more.

He pulled out another necklace all made of gold with an hourglass hanging on it. It was even more fascinating than the one before...he had never seen anything like it.

Harry, admiring the mini hourglass, put the necklace around his neck. It looked brand new, like it had just been polished several times, and sold to somebody who only wore their jewlery once. It had not one speck of dust, pristine and all. He began to spin the hourglass, finding it rather amusing as he had nothing else to do.

He did not notice the way the snake stared at the hourglass, keeping something on his mind.

'...twenty...twenty-two...twenty-five...'

"Stop!" the snake ordered so suddenly that he didn't even have time to drag out his 's'.

Harry stopped immediately, letting go of the hourglass. The snake had spooked him.

"Well, my work isss done here. I musst sssay, Potter, you did mossst of it, feeling my vibes...smart boy indeed. May we meet again..."

Harry wondered what the snake was talking about, not asking, but watching as it slithered away...at least he tried to. He looked around, realizing that his surroundings were fading.

He could hear the snake laughing evilly. "Sssee you later..."

"NO!" Harry jumped forward.

His head collided with a hard brick wall, his glasses falling right off.

Harry moaned in pain, bringing a hand to his head.

He felt around the room with one hand...it was brick...but since when in two days was the cupboard under the stair made of brick?

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**A/N: Please review, and if you didn't read my beginning author's note: I'm rewriting! I just want to make sure that's clear, otherwise there will be much confusion.**


	2. Werewolf

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything that you could appropriately sue me for if I didn't have this disclaimer.**

**A/N: You've waited long enough...so without further ado I finally give you the second chapter, _Werewolf_:**

**Twenty Eight Spins**

**Chapter 2 - Werewolf**

Harry rubbed his throbbing head, now very sorry for ever listening to that snake. He adjusted his lopsided glasses back to normal, now looking through cracked lenses. His shoulders slumped, realizing that he wouldn't get those fixed anytime soon...not by bringing them to the Dursley's. They might yell at him for not taking care of his glasses, like they did whenever Dudley punched them in, but they weren't going to do anything about it. Harry fixed the tape that held the two sides together from the part that rested on the bridge of his nose.

He looked around the small room. It was filled with broomsticks, and behind a few, Harry could just make out a door. He swam through the pool of broomsticks, kicking some aside. He reached the door and yanked at it. It was heavy, and only moved an inch at each tug. On the last pull, the door flew completely open, letting a strong gust of wind through the entire room, blowing through Harry's hair.

Harry cringed away from the sudden spurt of wind, not used to the feeling. After all, he had been stuck underneath the stair's cupboard for nearly two whole days.

Hesitantly stepping out the door, he found himself on top of thousands of steps that curled way down. They didn't have a railing like most stairs, and he looked over the edge. But he quickly pulled away, clasping a hand over his mouth to stop anything that might come out, because what he saw was the ground...thousands of yards away.

Trying to ignore the sudden dip in his stomach, staring straight ahead at the large full moon that stuck out from the surrounding darkness, he mustered up all of his strength to not get sick. He never knew how he felt about heights until now. Clearly, they were not his favorite.

Harry began to move down the steps, terrified shivers running down his back. He tried to distract himself with thoughts as he moved.

The wind whipped through his hair, chilling his skin, and not helping matters at all; it was very strong, and blew against Harry like it was trying to push him over the edge.

As he got lower and lower, the wind ceased. Harry was thankful for that, but sill a bit queasy.

The last step finally came, and Harry sat on the cool grass, breathing hard, but sighing in relief. After he caught his breath, he stood from the ground and moved forward, unsure of where to go. He lingered around the open space, a large green field with darker spots casting off from trees. He looked up at the moon again, glad to see that it was further now.

It was certainly peaceful. The leaves of the trees ruffled around in the wind like a bunch of fluttering birds in a bundle, the grass moved in gentle waves like the ocean, and light from the sky was bright.

And then a piercing howl was heard in the distance, long and high-pitched. It sent shivers through Harry's spine. He was given a feeling that he was unsafe.

Harry faced the large castle-like building that outlined the field, staring in awe at it's size. It was like a beast of blackness that could eat him up, but it looked so unreal. The highest point of the building was not viewable, it was so high. The stairs he had gone down were attached to one of the towers, and he couldn't even believe he had traveled them. He wondered if he could get inside. From what he could tell, there were no doors, so perhaps he was in the back of the building. He decided to walk around to the front, but as he did, he spotted something in the distance.

It was a tree. It had thick branches and no leaves at all. He noticed the way it moved, swaying unevenly against the patterns of the wind.

He strolled over to it, and it was further than he thought, but he had forgotten about the sound of the howling and was less urged to find shelter.

He was close enough to see when a stick that was flying in the wind got caught in the tree. When it happened, he wasn't ready for it: the branches swung together, moving in, slamming against each other, shaking the earth, the sound a loud boom that echoed across the field. Harry jumped along with his heart, his eyes wide as the stick fell to the ground, snapped in two perfect pieces. Harry stepped away cautiously. He knew what he had seen, and he knew he had not just imagined it.

Harry was just about to turn back when he heard a snort. He stiffened, slowly turning around to face the noise. Standing there, not far away, was an enormous, gorgeous stag whose fur glowed white in the moon's light, it's eyes a rich hazel, and it's back straightened elegantly, ears perked up, just as alert as Harry was.

The Stag was frozen, and towered so much above small, little Harry that it was intimidating. It's long, thick antlers looked frightening enough.

It stomped and snorted again, moving it's head like it was about to buck Harry.

Harry stepped back. That's what the stag wanted, wasn't it?

He was so occupied with the stag, and it was silent between them, but still the stag's ears shot up and it's head swiveled around to look at a giant black dog that must have sneaked up. It snorted and stomped some more, seemingly angry at the dog.

Harry took his chance to step back more as the stag and dog were silent, looking in the same direction into a dark forest nearby, but he sensed something wrong. They looked startled.

He made a mistake by stepping back once more, accidently stepping on a twig, it's loud snap sounding clear. He heard a low growl, but it didn't come from the big, black dog. It came from the werewolf right next to him.

Harry's eyes widened, and he paused in his steps, staring at the werewolf in shock. His breath stopped, his heart sped up...and the werewolf stared back, keeping that same low growl steady. 

The silence was murder. They were all still, they were all deathly silent. They would not dare make any movement for the wolf, or else it'd attack. 

It had been too long for the wolf, and it grew impatient. What was he waiting for when there was human blood right there in front of him? He finally went leaping towards Harry.

The stag shot forward after the werewolf, and both collided right before Harry, deep, tangled snarls coming from the wolf. It barked fiercely at the stag, tearing at it's coat, trying undoubtedly to get to Harry.

The dog joined in the fight, seeing that neither the stag of werewolf was winning. It ripped a great, loud bark from it's throat, hurling it's full weight towards the werewolf.

Harry stood frozen on the pot, paralyzed with fear, as the animals continued to fight. The werewolf scratched the stag's beautiful coat up, blood spilled all over it. Harry's thoughts were screaming at him to move, but he didn't know where to.

The fight went on, until soon the stag was thrown aside, laying in a weak heap of blood-covered coat. The dog's growls rose pitch, and he jumped the werewolf with a lot more determination than before. 

The werewolf and the dog got in a ferocious fight, rolling around and taking a snap at the other's neck, getting into another bloody battle like the stag had been through. Whines from the losing dog came from the fight.

At this point, Harry had gained control over his body. He began to move back again, trying to get away unnoticed. 

The werewolf's ears were sensitive, though, and his head snapped up, his attention full on the boy and not on the bloody dog pinned below him. The creature stepped over the dog, ignoring it's whimpers of pain: it had been defeated, weak and beaten. Now it was this scrumptious little boy's turn.

The wolf bared it's teeth, showing Harry the venomous saliva dripping down, letting him know that he hadn't had a human meal...ever. Now was his chance, and he would take that chance. Nothing would get in his way.

Harry stared, wide-eyed, at the menacing yellow eyes glaring at him. Harry glanced at the limp bodies of the stag and the dog on the ground...beaten...practically dead...and he feared what would come for him, being so much smaller than those other defeated animals. He trembled as the beast moved towards him, holding his breath.

Panic got the better of Harry. He took two eager steps back, stumbling over his heel, falling backwards onto the ground. The wolf leapt at the sudden movement, pinning Harry down securely with his claws.

A cry of terror and pain escaped Harry as the claws buried deep into his shoulders, nailing him to the surface. The werewolf rose it's head up high, shaping his mouth into a wide 'o', howling a long howl of victory. The sound was loud in Harry's ears, and he would never forget it.

Harry stared up at the wolf with his terrified, green eyes as it turned it's attention to him again. Tears began to run down his face as he realized that this werewolf might be the last thing he'd ever see.

The wolf opened it's mouth wide, baring it's yellow teeth, getting ready to bite Harry, when a great pair of antlers pushed him aside.

A cry came from the wolf as it was jammed into by the stag, flying off to the side. The stag was not ready to face another fight, however, and limped away to collapse to the ground again. The dog was better at recovering, and stood up to take over, but with less energy than before.

The wolf was angry, infuriated. It ignored the dog, getting ready to attack, and pounced back towards Harry, grabbing one of his legs with open claws like a normal house dog would grab a bone to chew.

Harry screamed aloud at the knife-like claws as they held his his legs hostage—a perfect target for biting. He reached down, holding his leg, trying desperately and hopelessly to release his leg from the wolf's clutch. The claws slid down his leg, making fresh new slice marks deep into his flesh.

The screams were not audible anymore. He was in too much pain to waste so much breath. He held his breath back, only letting out occasional sounds from the back of his throat.

The dog feared for Harry's life, bringing enough energy to jump forward and land on the werewolf. Out of everything that could have happened, a new dog fight was created. The dogs weren't careful, now forgetting everything as they fought for their lives, and the fight took place right on top of Harry. Harry became the victim of the two dog's razor sharp claws, their weight sinking them into his skin further. He had had enough of these claws, but could only lay helplessly beneath them.

For one moment, Harry felt his left arm interlocked within sharpness of jaws or something else that clasped his skin down together. He cried out again; it had been unexpected. He felt the sharpness let go of him quickly, but felt more pierce him all around.

But no matter. The fight went on.

Harry could feel the blood running from his shoulders and the blood from the new wound on his arm, coming out thick. He yelled and screamed more—forget his breath—tears falling down his face, never remembering feeling so much pain in his life. The werewolf and dog, both large and heavy, crushed him with their weight.

He fell silent, suddenly feeling nothing but pain, and not knowing what was going on, not caring at all. He just hoped he'd come out alive.

At the same time, the dog left Harry's body, luring the wolf off as well, but challenging him to more fight. 

The werewolf obliged, leaving Harry's body well behind, and chasing after the now running dog. Was it so easy for him to run away now that he might have possibly gotten a bite at Harry?

The dog rushed forward like lightening, fearing for his own life, running to the only safety he knew: the tree. The hole to the Shrieking Shack. He jumped in, the wolf following close behind him, both disappearing into the hole.

It was silent again, the barking and growling completely gone. The wind blew again through Harry's hair, innocently, like nothing the opposite of calming had just happened. But the calm did overcome him, and he opened his eyes slowly to claim he wasn't dreaming. His glasses were next to his head, cracked, but his vision wasn't too terrible at this point in his life.

The sky was high above him—a dark blue. The stars still glowed, the moon still shined, the leaves still fluttered, the grass still made waves, this time around his face. The light of the moon was all over his body, making his skin crawl, making the wound in his left arm tingle. 

The tears on Harry's face had dried by the wind, but he could stop the new ones from coming out.

The stag on the ground moved, trying to stand. Harry heard it. He had forgotten that it was there. 

On two knees, the stag tried to bring the rest of it's weight to it's legs. It made it up, stumbling over, limping over, to Harry's body.

Harry watched the stag, his heart pumping slightly faster. He didn't believe the stag could harm him worse than the werewolf, but still feared that it might step all over him.

But the stag was changing, getting smaller. Harry thought he wasn't seeing correctly (which he really wasn't), but he couldn't use that as an excuse as the stag turned into a _human_.

It was a guy, seventeen years old about, dressed in clothes that looked a lot like school uniform, tall and thin, black messy hair. And glasses.

He kneeled down beside Harry, hands on his knees, hunched over, trying to catch his breath.

Out of so many weird things Harry had witnessed, this had been the weirdest. A stag had just turned into a teenager!

Harry blinked, trying to catch his own breath, looking the older boy over, wondering where all of his wounds went. He saw light scratches, and a bit of blood on his arm, but nothing as bad as the stag had looked. 

The older boy glanced over at Harry, noticing the blood on his shoulders, and his arm, but quickly averted his gaze back to his lap, not even looking at his face. Harry found this strange, but the older boy didn't want to face the harm his werewolf friend had created. 

Another tear Harry couldn't stop fell out from the side of his eye, down his temple. He didn't look at the older boy either, but instead closed his eyes. He was exhausted.

The older boy had finally caught his breath, not holding back his gaze anymore. He saw Harry's closed eyes, he saw an old scar on his forehead, he saw the cuts in his shoulders, the blood that stained his shirt. He saw the slashes on Harry's legs, down his legs, long streaks of blood oozing out, forming paths to the ground. What scared him most was the wound on his arm, an arm that looked bitten.

This made the older boy's nerves twitch. If his friend every found out that he had bitten somebody...

"He's really hurt, mate."

The voice startled him, and the boy suddenly looked next to him to see another boy his age. A boy with long black hair and same uniform clothes. He looked just as ruffled as James.

"Sirius—Padfoot, where's Remus?" the older boy asked, suddenly frantic.

Sirius, "Padfoot", answered wearily, "Don't worry, James, I locked him back up in the Shrieking Shack." 

James sighed, but shook his head. "You should've stayed with him, Pads." He sounded tired.

"I figured that's what he'd have wanted, though, if he had the mind. He'd have wanted us to lock him in there...to keep him from...humans. And he was killing me, Prongs. I couldn't fight him any longer," Sirius said, his own words making him sadder for his friend.

That convinced James more, but he moved towards a different subject, one they would have to face sooner or later. "Padfoot...you don't think he was bitten, do you?" He touched Harry's arm, looking at the damage.

Harry's eyes flew open, and he flinched. They couldn't tell if he was in pain or if he was startled.

Sirius was hesitant to answer. The boy's reaction had also delayed his answer. "I don't know," he whispered, sharing a glance with James. 

James held the glance a bit longer, looking at Sirius for any ideas of what to do. Then he looked back at Harry, having gained nothing.

"Hey," James started, his voice quiet. "What hurts?"

Harry shut his eyes again. What hurt..._everything_.

He tried to speak. Something was holding him back, and he didn't know what.

James noticed his hesitance, deciding to ask an easier question to answer. "...were you bitten?"

Somehow, this question hurt Harry more. Was he bitten? By one of the dogs? He couldn't tell. Harry shook his head. "I...I don't..." He found that his breath was short. He was beginning to feel nauseous, realizing that he must have lost a lot of blood by now.

"How...do you..." James looked lost for what to say. He turned to Sirius. Finally, the reason for their hesitation to help Harry was brought up. "Maybe we should just take him to Pomphrey..."

"No, are you crazy? Moony...he could be exposed, _we_ could be exposed for letting this kid get bitten! Our animagus forms, they're illegal, remember?! And then...we could all be expelled, Prongs!"

James got angry. "First of all, we don't even know if this boy was bitten!" he argued. He himself was unsure to go to Madame Pomphrey, though.

"Prongs...we'll make a big risk by sending him to her, not knowing if he was bitten or not. She'll be able to tell what a werewolf bite it like. We will have no clue. She'll get suspicious, and we'll be asked questions." Sirius sounded frustrated.

Harry stared the arguing boys. Why wouldn't they just help him? He was in so much pain...

"Look, Sirius, he would have changed by now. He was not bitten...I'm sure of it."

"How do you know, James? Remus never told us how it goes. You're either bitten and changed right away, or...like this."

James shook his head, wondering why Sirius was so convinced that the boy was bitten. "Well, I'm not just going to leave this kid out here, he needs medical attention." James moved to pick Harry's body up.

Sirius opened his mouth to speak, but James, spotting him, interrupted. "I won't take him to Madame Pomphrey." He knew that it _would_ be a big risk. But at the same time, he was nervous that the boy wouldn't get well. They were taking a risk anyway.

"Fine," Sirius said. "That's fine." He glanced once more at the wounded arm.

James picked up Harry's cracked glasses, folding them and putting them in his pocket.

Sirius watched as James stumbled towards the castle with the boy in his arms, and went to catch up. "Need help?" he asked.

James side glanced at Sirius, smiling inside. "Yeah. We'll take him to my Head room." 

They both carried Harry, neither having much strength to carry his whole weight all the way inside the castle to James's personal room, up all those staircases, even though Harry was very light.

Harry tried to keep his eyes open so he could look around inside the castle, but his eyes eventually fell shut and he was asleep.

When they got to the empty Common Room, they entered a portrait of James with a password. Lily's portrait was just right next to his, even though inside there was a larger room that connected both of theirs. 

They crawled through the portrait and were greeted with a large, fantastic room decorated with gold and maroon curtains, wall hangings, a king size bed in the corner, and maroon/gold carpets. 

They set Harry on the long couch that faced the fireplace which was lighted with a thick fire.

James pulled out the Wizard's Aid Kit, doubting they would need anything that little cheap thing provided. 

They started by cleaning Harry's wounds. He woke up, wincing. "Ow..." he looked startled, but was also too exhausted. He shut his eyes and pulled his back into the pillow, trying to endure the pain. They were helping him, so he needed to keep still.

However, Sirius took the small vile of sleeping potion from the aid kit, and gave it to Harry to drink so he wouldn't be disturbed.

"Prongs..." he looked at the hurt boy's face, talking as they both rubbed his different scratches with cotton balls wet with some wizard remedy. "He looks just like you."

James had noticed. "Yeah, Padfoot. But did you see his eyes?"

Sirius lifted one of Harry's eyelids up before James could stop him, catching a glance of the color. "Wow, they're so green!"

James rolled his eyes. "No, I mean...who else has those eyes?"

"...Lily?"

"Yeah," James breathed, suddenly finding himself smiling. "A boy who looks like me with Lily's eyes."

Sirius laughed. "Yeah, like your child if you two had one!"

"Exactly," James said, laughing along with Sirius. Of course it'd be funny to see Lily Evans and James Potter have a child together, since it was almost so impossible.

It was silent between the two again as they cleaned and covered up Harry's scratches and wounds.

"...seriously, though. He must be only five," James said, breaking the silence with a rather upsetting statement.

Sirius glanced at James. "I'm sure he'll be fine, James. He seems alright to me. He just needs some rest. And these wounds won't last long with this stuff." Sirius held one of the wet cotton balls up.

"But imagine how Moony will react," James muttered. "And this kid. What if he was bitten, what will we do handling two werewolves next full moon? What would his parents say if they knew we turned their child into a werewolf? What if his parents are prejudice against werewolves? What if they disown him?!"

"Prongs!" Sirius said before James could go on.

James ignored Sirius. "We might just...have to tell Dumbledore." Sirius almost blurted out, but James added, "But we won't unless we really have to. Right?"

Sirius stared at James with disbelief. He really just wanted to let out their secret didn't he? Sirius thought. But he thought about it. By protecting their friend and themselves to such the extent of not telling Dumbledore anything, they could be taking the life of this boy. "...Fine."

They went on tending to Harry, and soon enough they were finished. His arm was wrapped around with sterile dressings, as wells as his deeply scratched legs. They used a cleaning charm on his clothes, wiping out all the blood.

By the time they were finished, they were fatigued, knowing that if they just closed their eyes and lay down, they'd fall asleep in a matter of seconds.

"Hey, Prongs did we miss that scar?" Sirius said, yawning as James started packing away the Aid Kit. James paused, turning towards Harry. Sirius was looking at a lightening bolt shaped scar on his forehead. 

"...I don't know," James said. He took out a fresh cotton ball, putting that same remedy on it. He rubbed it on the scar. "It'll be better in the morning. All these scratches will." He thanked Merlin for magic.

"Those wounds on his arms and legs will take a while to heal, though," Sirius said, eyeing the bandages.

James nodded. "Now lets move him to the bed." 

They picked Harry up again, both still not having the strength to carry Harry on their own, and with the added tiredness they were not up to it, either.

Harry finally lay sleeping in the bed, all fresh and aided. The potion was still working on him, and would probably wear off by morning. James and Sirius pulled the covers over him, and tucked three of the seven pillows around him and under his head.

When they were finished, Sirius pulled back and sighed. "Damn, Prongs...are you just going to keep him hiding here?"

"I don't know, mate," James said, stretching his arms. "For now." He grabbed Harry's glasses from his pocket and performed "Repairo" on them, and they were as good as new as he folded them and put them on the bedside table.

Sirius yawned again. He stared out at the open window, the moon visible. "I bet Remus is more tired then we are."

"Yeah," James agreed, suppressing a yawn that Sirius had spread to him. "I'm going to go back. He really needs us right now."

Sirius nodded, straightening his back and forcing himself to wake up a bit. "Sure. I'll go with you. I don't think Moony will be too friendly...we just kept him from eating a human."

"Padfoot, I don't think werewolves necessarily _eat _humans. They bite them."

"Whatever. Eat, bite, same thing."

"So you're saying when you're in dog form and you bite me, you're eating me?"

Sirius glared. "Shut up, Prongs, I'm tired."

James laughed. "Yeah, well wake up, because we have to face an angry werewolf."

The two made their way towards the portrait again. James was last out, and he looked back at Harry's form, wondering what the boy's name was. They hadn't asked. How would he manage keeping a little kid in his room until the next full moon to see if he was a werewolf or not? He had asked himself this question many times tonight. He only wondered what this boy would bring him.

Without much more hesitance, James flicked the lights off, ready to face his werewolf friend, ready for his anger and viciousness, ready for the next month, ready to deal with another werewolf if he had to.

The lights went out, the portrait door shut, and the moon streamed through the still open window, spilling on Harry's little sleeping form.

He had one bright side to view: if he were conscious, he knew that he'd much rather prefer this place than the dirty old cupboard any day.

**A/N: I really hate this chapter. It took forever to write and in my opinion it's still not even good. Sorry, people. **

**I'm such a bad author. I should iron my hands over like Dobby. Ugh...**

**Sorry for the slow update. I promise I won't make promises to be faster :P.**

**And sorry for Harry's tragic bite...or did he really get bitten? You'll have to wait and see. Big twist if he did, big blow if he didn't...twist or blow (bite or no bite)? Which would you prefer? (I've already made my decision, but if you are convincing enough, I might change it for you ;). Please give an honest opinion/decision, because I want to know how to please you since I can't really do that by updating faster (it's impossible for me).**

**Thank you. And I'm not begging for reviews, because I don't deserve them :(. But if you want go ahead and leave one, I'd be glad.**


	3. Messy Haired Boy

**A/N: First of all, this goes out to everybody who reviewed even though I haven't updated in years. It gave me faith and willed me to go on with this story. I am extremely sorry for giving up in the first place. Here goes nothing :)**

**P.S. I don't know if I made it clear, but Harry's time in the cupboard in chapter 1 was his first time ever in the cupboard. That's how it became his room.**

**Twenty-Eight Spins**

**Chapter 3 – Messy Haired Boy**

Harry was not a morning person. He could never force his eyes open even when a stream of light hit his face—wait…stream of light?

A little eye of green popped open, the pupil growing smaller in reaction to the strong light. Not only was there a bright stream of light, but there was also a warm, comfy bed beneath him.

This was enough to wake Harry up even in the most comfortable situation. He had never in his life been offered a bed—and a huge one at that! And he was finally reunited with light! After all those days in that cupboard…

It was not but a couple seconds later that Harry was startled by a loud snore at his side. He nearly leapt out of bed, and would've, but the pain of sore muscles stopped him. Instead he found himself sitting up in bed, holding back a cry of pain from the sudden movement.

Harry tried carefully to pull back the covers and find the source, or person, that caused the snore, without causing another scare. There, sleeping, completely knocked out, was a guy with super, super, super messy hair.

Last night's events were blurry, but then it all reoccurred to Harry. His eyes grew wide and he remembered this person in all that blurriness. This guy had helped him.

Harry checked his legs to see if they were still there. He threw his own covers off, and there, fortunately, were his legs: scrawny and bare as always with the exception of a few scars. The lack of gashes was surprising, since the strongest memory he had of the night before was the feeling of pain in his legs.

There was a stir next to him—no doubt it was the knocked out, messy-haired guy. The covers stirred around a bit more until finally another noise was emitted from the mouth of the messy-haired guy: a groan. "Lily…oh yeah…that feels…so good…" he moaned, seemingly at peace. Not long after he shot straight up in bed, sitting wide-awake, but not without startling Harry again. The guy rubbed his eyes and then ran his hands furiously through his hair as if to fix it into something worse. He sighed, sensing morning and feeling it weigh down on his eyelids. Then he fell back into his pillow, turned on his side where he faced Harry, and was about to close his eyes again, until he realized with whom _exactly_ he was faced with.

"Merlin, I forgot!" he gasped as he spotted Harry, and, with realization, sat up once more.

Harry, unsure what to do, could only stare with confusion.

"Are you alright?" the guy asked Harry, looking him up and down, with a hint of urgency in his voice.

All Harry could do was nod, remaining in his silent state of shock.

The guy's eyes scanned Harry until he finally seemed a little more relaxed. He ran his hand through his hair and let out a sigh of relief.

"You…you're bleeding," Harry nearly whispered as he pointed to the guy's chest.

"What…?" the guy looked down. He had a long blood stain that stretched across his inconveniently white shirt.

Harry watched the guy curse and jump off the bed, making his way to an open door that most likely was the bathroom. Upon hearing more curse words inside the bathroom, Harry watched as the guy shoved his head out the door, gave out the command "stay where you are", pointed at Harry as if he might cause trouble, and shoved his head back in.

At this time Harry noticed the bedroom and it's amazing size. The walls were made of an old medieval print of scarlet and gold and matching drapes that hung elegantly on the wall. The carpet looked soft enough to kill. There was even a lounging area surrounding a rich fireplace that was completely made of gold. Harry noticed a portrait above the fireplace, a rather large one, that inside it held the picture of none other than the messy haired weird guy—of course. Underneath it there was a label that read "James Potter". This was James Potter's room—the guy in the portrait—the guy in the bathroom. However, Harry found something off about the picture. Was it moving?

Harry, without his glasses, believed he was only seeing things, but being the curious five year old he was, he had to investigate.

In the moments that it took Harry to realize that the portrait was in fact moving, the guy, James Potter, came out of the bathroom with a clean, blood-free shirt.

Harry only stared at James, looking him up and down. Just last night this guy had transformed into a human from the form of a stag. Just last night Harry had transported from the cupboard under the stairs to…this place. Just last night Harry had witnessed a moving tree (the Womping Willow) that seemed as if it had a mind of it's own. Just last night Harry had had a conversation with a snake. Just now Harry had seen that portrait move.

He felt nauseous. He must be dreaming.

He was shaken out of his thoughts when James moved forward. James stood over Harry beside the edge of the bed. "Do you recall last night?" he asked in the silence.

Harry's heart was suddenly pumping, each pulse loud and definite in his chest. Yeah, he recalled last night. But he was so unsure of whether it was all real or not. The image of that scary animal that nearly killed him was so vivid in his mind.

"Yes…" Harry's voice came out scratchy.

James noticed his nervous body language. Something was odd about this little boy. He seemed so lost. James eyed the boy's uncovered legs—to his relief, they didn't look as bad as the night before. However, he was not too sure about the rest of him. Right now, his prior issue was to check if this boy was hurt or possibly bitten. Then he could deal with Remus. And hopefully he wouldn't have to deal with this boy's guardians, but at this point it seemed inevitable.

"How are you feeling?" James asked.

Physically, Harry felt numb. He felt some aching, although he remembered a lot of it the night before. "Numb," Harry said truthfully. He looked James straight in the eyes before looking shyly down at his own knees. He had so many questions he wanted to ask. Like,' how did you transform from an animal to a human?' But Harry knew better than to ask questions. The Dursley's had made sure of it.

"How about we have you stand up. See if the numbness goes away. You think you can do that?" James was worried. Harry seemed shaken. Hopefully he wasn't traumatized by Remus' scary werewolf attack. In all honesty, James was quite shaken himself. But he couldn't let this boy see that. He needed to stay calm for him.

Harry nodded. He didn't really want to stand. He felt drowsy and could probably sleep all day. But, being used to following orders, he began to move himself off the bed.

Noticing the height of the bed, James helped Harry down.

A wave of dizziness hit Harry all at once, and he suddenly felt weak and ached all over. Everything hurt, especially his legs. His vision went grey and black for a few seconds, and his legs were about to collapse underneath him.

James noticed his dizziness. "Oh Merlin, let's sit you down somewhere…" he muttered.

James guided Harry to the nearby couch. Harry immediately felt less dizzy as he sat down. He let Harry recompose himself.

As he waited, James took a deep breath…where to start? Who are you? Where are you from? How do I get you home? All these questions he wanted to ask. But he didn't want to overwhelm him. He waited for the boy to gain composure.

Harry couldn't wait any longer. He had to ask something. "Why do you have the same last name as me?" he asked shyly. It was secretly bothering him. Being only five, he thought every family had a different last name.

James looked confused. "What…?"

Harry looked at the portrait of James. "Oh!" James said, and his eyebrows immediately furrowed. "Is your last name Potter?"

Harry nodded.

It was a great coincidence that this boy looked like him, but to have a similar name? James started to have a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. This boy suddenly seemed oddly familiar, like a distant—very distant—memory.

"What's your first name?"

"Harry." Harry examined James's face. He looked flustered and tired, and deep in thought. He didn't say anything for a long time, but only looked past Harry as if he were trying to remember something.

"Harry…" James repeated to himself, thinking some more.

It lasted a while…he seemed to have forgotten about Harry. Harry sat there awkwardly, but waited patiently. If there was one thing he had gained from the Dursley's it was patience.

"Can I have my glasses?" Harry finally said softly, interrupting James's trance.

"What? Oh…yeah!" James snapped out of his thoughts and fetched Harry's glasses from the night stand. He came back to Harry and handed them over. _He wears glasses…_ he thought. _Like me._

At this point Harry tried not to stare. He thought this James guy was a little strange…but he didn't mind. After all, he himself was a freak.

"So…" James started again. "Where are you from exactly?"

"4 Privet Drive." Harry didn't know anything about his location except for the Dursley's address.

James wasn't stupid. He knew this was an address, but it didn't help the matter. He decided to ask a better question. "Where are you parents?"

Harry's eyes shot down. He thought he'd be used to it by now, since he always had to tell kids at school, but he wasn't. A knot formed in his chest.

James couldn't help but wince. He could tell he had asked the wrong question.

"They died in a car crash."

James mentally punched himself in the face. He couldn't help but feel anything but remorse for this child. But why were his wizard parents in a car in the first place? Wizards didn't use muggle transportation, since they had more sufficient ways of travel. "Then who do you live with?" He asked the question wearily, hoping it wouldn't spark more sadness in Harry.

"With my aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon." Saying their names made Harry feel bad again for "pushing" Dudley down the stairs…that was the last time he had seen them. He wondered if he'd ever see them again.

"Do—" James was stopped mid-sentence when a loud knock erupted throughout the room.

"Breakfast, Mr. Potter?" a crackly, high pitched voice said. Harry looked around. The voice was coming from outside of one of the entrances. It must have been…a maid?

James was alert. He responded quickly. "Uh…no thanks, Rumpy, I'm not hungry!" James glanced down at Harry.

The voice, or Rumpy, insisted on James having breakfast. "But Mr. Potter…you're always feeling hungry after long nights of….well...I promised Master I would not speak of it!"

"Rumpy…just this one time—"

"Mrs. Potter has ordered me to make sure young Mr. Potter gets his breakfast every day, sir. I must obey her, sir."

"Damn mother…" James muttered under his breath. He looked around frantically. He didn't want anybody to know of Harry just yet…who knows what would happen if they found out about him. What if he was bitten? They would know about Remus. They would find out about James and Sirius and their illegal animagus forms.

James grabbed Harry's arm and quickly guided him under the bed. He held his finger to his lips as a sign for Harry to be quiet. Harry was confused but nonetheless, decided he'd listen to James.

"Fine, Rumpy. Come in."

"I've bought James his favorite – waffles! And eggs, bacon, sausage, of course."

James forced a smile. "Uh, thank you, that'll be plenty..." he scratched the back of his head, slightly nervous.

"Is there anything I shall get for Mr. Potter?" Rumpy asked. His ears perked up as he eagerly waited for more orders. House Elves loved anybody of the Potter line.

"No no, that should be everything!" James said hurriedly.

Rumpy's ears fell a little in disappointment. "Very well. Bye bye Mr. Potter!" And with a snap the house elf was gone.

James sighed and buried his head in his hands. He had forgotten for a few moments all of the responsibilities he had as Head Boy. As it was a Saturday, he was expected to conduct a meeting in a couple of hours.

Meanwhile Harry lay on the ground underneath the bed in shock. What was that thing that had just come in? From his view he had only seen the feet…the big grey, lumpy, bare feet. Like they belonged to a creature of some sort!

James came over to the bed. He peeked under the bed. "It's safe to come out now…Harry." He paused slightly before he used his name for the first time.

Harry crawled out. He stood and looked up at James. "Where am I?" he finally dared to ask, although he asked it very quietly. He had a sense that he wasn't supposed to be there. Why else would he have to hide?

James held his breath. He didn't quite know what to tell Harry yet. How would he explain the werewolf? How would he try to contact his parents? How would they react?

"Let's sit down while we talk about this, okay?" James led Harry to the couch once again.

One deep breath later, James let it out. "So, Harry, to answer your question. You're at Hogwarts." He tensed up as he waited for the 'excited five year old wizard' reaction.

After a long pause, "What's Hogwarts?"

James's eyes widened. Was it possible…?

"And…why do the pictures move?" Harry's eyes darted towards the portrait of James as he asked this. It was bothering him so much, and his five year old curiosity was getting the best of him.

James almost fainted. Was this "Harry Potter" a muggle? But no…he couldn't be. Muggles can't see Hogwarts…

"Harry…do you know what magic is?" James asked, seriously concerned.

"Uncle Vernon says it's not real." Harry said the only thing he knew about magic. When he would play with Dudley's ruined toys, he'd pretend they could do "magical" things. He'd make cars fly and trains swim in the ocean with his imagination, but when Vernon overheard this, he made sure to take away Harry's toys and remind him that magic was not real. And then he'd remind him that he was a freak for imagining such things.

James couldn't believe what he heard. Who was this mysterious boy? He was definitely a wizard…but he didn't even know it yet. He must be a muggle born… He watched as Harry played with his hands in his lap. He suddenly felt bad for him. Everything he had witnessed last night must have been so strange…. A werewolf…his transformation from a stag into a human...and the whomping willow, no doubt. How did he even get here in the first place?

"Magic is real, Harry. It is very real." James couldn't believe he was telling somebody this for the first time. Most muggle borns never knew they were wizards until they received their first letter to Hogwarts. They all had one thing in common, though—accidental magic. "Sometimes, when you're really angry or scared, you can make an accident happen." James tried to explain this as simply as he could. "It's because of magic. Has this happened to you before?"

Harry's looked up at James, soaking in what he had just said. He grew sad. It _was_ his fault…he _had _pushed Dudley down the stairs. He had been so scared, that it just happened. How could he do such a thing? He deserved to be under the cupboard…

Harry looked away from James as his eyes began to water. He was a freak…no wonder the Dursley's hated him so much.

James's heart sunk to the pit of his stomach. He was doing horribly at this…he made the poor kid cry.

"Hey, don't cry…why don't you tell me what's wrong?" James moved closer to Harry. He braced himself for the answer…was he scared? Did he miss home?

Harry sniffled as the tears came faster. "I-I…*sniff sniff*…m-made…*hiccup*…my cousin…*sniff*…fall…downstairs…"

James shook his head and mentally laughed to himself. He had expected Harry to say something a lot worse. "No…no, Harry, it wasn't your fault. It's an _accident_, remember? You couldn't control it. You can learn to control your magic someday." Seeing as Harry was still crying, James grabbed a napkin from the breakfast cart Rumpy had bought in and handed it to Harry.

Harry grabbed the napkin but he didn't use it. He was too upset to move.

"Hey…it's alright," James tried to say as soothingly as possible. He awkwardly brought Harry towards his chest which he tried to make into a comforting hug.

Harry was a little tense. But at the same time, he really liked this James guy. He reminded him of his teacher. His teacher always comforted him when he was bullied by Dudley and his friends. His teacher was the only kind person he knew. But James was kind too.

James felt awful. This poor boy was now going to suffer the consequences of James's foolish actions. Why hadn't they been more careful with Remus? They shouldn't have ever let him out of the Shrieking Shack. This boy didn't even know what magic was, and now he was supposed to find out that he might've been bitten by a werewolf? That he might never go back home?

"You're cousin is alright, isn't he?" James asked, pulling away from Harry and looking down at him.

Harry nodded.

"Then don't worry about it, Harry. You're perfectly normal."

This comforted Harry tremendously. He wiped his remaining tears and suddenly his stomach made a loud grumbling sound. It was loud enough for James to hear.

"Merlin, I forgot, you must be starving! Here…take all you want…"

And with that, James fed Harry. It felt good, too. The boy was so small, he definitely needed food whether he was hungry or not.

After filling up, Harry looked content. It made James smile just a little.

This was an ugly mess, yes. But what a mysterious little boy he had encountered.

**A/N: Sorry if it's a little short. I thought something was better than nothing, after all!**


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